


Happy Birthday, Chara!

by JaneTheNya



Series: Act → Disarm [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara (Undertale) Has Their Own Body, Everyone Is Alive, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Reader is Chara (Undertale), Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22472770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneTheNya/pseuds/JaneTheNya
Summary: Apparently, Asriel has decided it's your birthday, and you're not going to get away without a celebration. You just hope you can keep it together for that long.
Series: Act → Disarm [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616899
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Happy Birthday, Chara!

“A cake…?”

You sit up in bed. Your hair is a mess, and so are your sheets. A few stuffed animals are strewn chaotically around your bed’s frame; one or two has fallen to the floor, and that always bothers you. It means you must have kicked them off the bed during the night, which feels like you hurt people, and you've done enough of that to last a lifetime. Somehow, you're still tired. You always wake up like this. You seem to remember having a panic attack during the night, but you aren't sure if that was just a dream or not. 

It’s also 2 o'clock in the afternoon. You suspect as much, and a glance at the clock confirms it. Waking up at this time isn’t unusual for you, but being woken up doesn’t happen often. If your family is waking you, it’s usually for some event, something planned, and you have to get up early. This isn’t something you’d been told about.

Asriel, your brother, a small goat-like monster, stands by your bedside, beaming.

“That’s right, Chara! I know it’s your birthday and I know you don’t like to celebrate it, but this year I’ve decided to surprise you with something nice! I got mom’s help and I’m baking you a birthday cake!”

You try to process this new information, your hand gripping at your pajamas. You don’t really want a cake. Not because you don’t like cake, and not because you aren’t happy that your brother wanted to bake you a cake. On the contrary, you love sweets, and quite frankly, you love spending time with Asriel and Frisk. You simply don’t think you deserve a cake, much less a cake in celebration of your existence.

Your eyes dart around the bed, avoiding Asriel, and avoiding a clear answer. Eventually, he realizes what you’re doing. You do it often enough.

“Come down as soon as you’re ready. It’ll be done in a few minutes.” He places a hand gently on your leg, which is still under the covers. “I’m doing this of my own choice, because I want to, because I love you,” he says, somehow sensing your response. With that, he leaves.

After he’s left the room, and you’ve fully woken up, you get out of bed weakly, and shut the door to your and Asriel’s shared room. You reach into your closet and pull out some clothes to throw on (a black button-up shirt, a green sweater to go over it, and some jeans), and head to the dining room table.

Your family is all seated around it. Your mother and father both flash proud smiles at you. They haven’t fully gotten past their relationship problems, but they seem to be coming together for your sake. That makes you feel a bit guilty. Your mind is beginning to wonder how long they've been waiting for you. You shake your head and try not to dwell on it.

Frisk, your fellow human of the family, and the person whose soul you once shared, greets you with an excited wave. They've made some sort of origami creature out of the napkin by their plate. Asriel has a place at the table, but he’s absent. You figure he’s finishing up the cake.

You hesitate at the doorway before, eventually, nervously making your way to the table, and taking a seat uncomfortably. Your mother and father greet you happily, which makes you feel even more guilty, refusing to make eye contact and speaking in short sentences. Eventually, you settle into place.

“Chara!”, Asriel calls from the kitchen. “Do you think you can handle a fork today, or do you want to try to eat this with a spoon?”

Suddenly your mind is racing, thoughts of the sharp points of a metal fork piercing the soft flesh of your hands. The small, fine ends the fork leaving as many perfectly small holes in their place as they’re forced harshly into the flesh, over and over. Bright red trickles of blood pouring from the wounds and down your hand, onto your pale flesh. Your breathing hastens, chokes, and stops. Your vision goes blurry, your hands gripping the table. Suddenly, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

You look up, not even realizing tears had formed in your eyes, meeting Asriel’s face of patient concern.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay, Chara, it’s okay.” He offers a spoon gently, and you take it. “I asked because I thought it might be a bit hard to use a spoon… you don’t have to rush yourself to get past it.”

Your eyes shoot down, glaring into the tablecloth. “It’s been years, Azzy”, you mumble weakly. “I still can’t be trusted with a FORK.”

A finger pokes your side. Frisk has gotten up from their seat at the table, and is smiling patiently at you.

“It’s okay!”, they mumble. “It’s not a race. Take as much time as you need.”

You’re always blown away by how different you actually are from Frisk. Aside from sharing a similar Determination, you aren't all that similar at all. You both had enough hardship to throw your lives away by climbing the mountain, yet you could never accept yourself in the new life you were given. You always sought self-destruction, self-hatred, and self-harm. They had adjusted almost instantly to the underground, and caring for those that lived there. They made a much finer ambassador between humanity and monsterkind than you ever could have.

Yet miraculously, you’re both alive. Maybe it isn’t a contest, you allow yourself to think. Maybe healing isn’t universal. Maybe you don’t have to be the same. Somehow, Frisk’s smile says all of that, even without words, as they patiently watch your face awaiting a response. Eventually, you nod, giving them a weak smile of your own in return. They prance happily back to their chair on the other side of the table.

As Asriel begins serving the cake, you roll your sleeve up, running a hand along the faded scars that remain. The worst of them left large marks, but even those have gone from their original bright red to a pale whitish color that matches your skin. When those scars started fading, you had hated it. You'd searched the house for sharp things trying desperately to keep your arm properly covered in the symbols of your wretchedness. Now, though, only a few elevated white scars and faded red lines remain on the pale skin of your flesh. As you look at them, you begin to think that perhaps you aren’t “fixed” or completely “healed”… but despite those things, perhaps you are better. And maybe being better is all you need to be.


End file.
